


The One With The Tostadas

by stolemyslumber



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Established Relationship, Hospitals, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stolemyslumber/pseuds/stolemyslumber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Nothing,” Brad says, straight-faced and almost convincing, except for the part where he’s sitting in an ER exam room, wearing nothing but his skivvies and a hospital gown. “I’m fine, Ray.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With The Tostadas

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [lakeeffectgirl](http://lakeeffectgirl.livejournal.com/) for beta-reading! <3

*

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Brad says, straight-faced and almost convincing, except for the part where he’s sitting in an ER exam room, wearing nothing but his skivvies and a hospital gown. “I’m fine, Ray.”

Ray nods. “Right. Pharmacy on the way home? The CVS is near Roberto’s, we can get tacos.”

“I don’t need any painkillers,” Brad says, but he hands his scrip over without protest. Ray squints at the doctor’s scribble.

“Vicodin,” he finally parses, tucking the sheet into his pocket. “I think the doctor’s definition of fine must be different than yours.” Brad makes the face that usually precedes an impassioned speech about his warrior spirit being systematically destroyed by all the pussy liberal dick-sucks who took over Oceanside in his absence. Ray slides the curtain across their half of the exam room and changes the subject. “Dude, where did they put your pants? Your bare ass is not sitting in my car.”

Brad nods at a chair hidden in the corner, where his clothes are stacked neatly. “If I remember correctly, my ass was naked in your car as recently as last weekend.”

Ray grabs the pile and helps Brad off the exam bed. Brad shrugs the gown off, and they start putting his shirt on, which involves Brad pretending he can lift his hands over his shoulders without issue and Ray doing most of the maneuvering.

“You are correct,” Ray says, tugging the shirt down over Brad’s arms. “However, that was an entirely different situation involving me getting a piece of said ass.”

“Who says it has to be different?” Brad asks, watching with obvious interest as Ray picks up Brad’s jeans and drops to his knees.

“Oh, fuck no, homes -- step in,” Ray says, holding the leg of Brad’s jeans open for him to step into. “You think I’m gonna debauch you in your delicate state? I bet the doctor gave you rules about strenuous physical activity, too. Okay, other leg.”

He has Brad’s jeans up and is working on the zipper before Brad replies. “It’s like you _want_ me to suffer. It barely even hurts, and --”

“-- and my mouth is better than a hit of Vicodin any day, I know,” Ray finishes for him. Brad raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t correct Ray, just sits back on the bed and lifts a foot for Ray to slide a shoe onto. “But in this situation, it might be _too_ good, and then you’ll start moving around ‘cause you can’t help yourself, and then you’ll fuck up your back even more. And then I’ll have to drive you back here and you’ll spend three more hours in the ER.”

“Okay, one, your mouth is not _that_ mind-blowing --”

“That is a lie and you know it.”

“-- and I have plenty of self-control, so the concern is unnecessary. And two, my back is fine.”

Ray sits back on his heels. “Okay. You wanna finish tying?”

Brad doesn’t move. “Do you need help remembering where the laces go?”

“Nah, I remember. The bunny goes into the burrow.”

“The _bunny_? Maybe in your extra-whiskey-tango end of the trailer park, Ray.”

Ray finishes tying the laces. He gets up to stand by the exam bed and wraps an arm around Brad’s waist. “I will have you know that we had the finest double-wide in all of Nevada. My cousins were jealous as shit. Two, three --”

He pulls Brad off the cot and onto his feet. The furrow on Brad’s forehead only gets a little deeper, so Ray thinks they’re okay.

“What’d you charge to let them look inside?” Brad asks. “A blowjob and a gallon of moonshine?”

“Two gallons.” Ray helps Brad settle an arm around his shoulders. “I know a good business opportunity when I see it, Brad. Plus they knew it was worth it. C’mon, car’s out the west exit.”

“I’ll _bet_ it was worth it. Tell me, had they ever seen modern plumbing before?”

They shuffle to the door.

“I am offended by your outdated stereotypes, Bradley. We learned all about the miracles of modern plumbing in our home-school classes.”

Brad laughs out loud as Ray swings them out into the hallway. “Please tell me you were never home-schooled.”

Ray grins up at him. “For a year when I was twelve.”

“No,” Brad says. “I don’t believe you.”

“Ask my mom! I swear it’s true, but it was only --”

“Give me my cell phone, I’m calling her.”

Ray bats Brad’s hand away from where he’d tucked Brad’s cell phone into his pocket. “No! I just had this teacher who was _convinced_ I had ADD or something --”

“You expect me to believe you weren’t prescribed Ritalin from birth?”

“Fuck you, I was an _angel_ , I just didn’t understand math problems for shit. And this teacher had it in for me --”

“Having the same reaction to you as the rest of us isn’t having it in for you, it’s self-defense.”

“She made me stand in a corner every time I got the homework wrong, and she told me and my mom at parent-teacher conferences that she thought I was mentally retarded.”

“I’m not sure I disagree,” Brad says, with an edge to his voice that belies his words and means Ray should hide his yearbooks when they get home, for Mrs. Ellis’s sake.

“And then she flunked me, so instead of me having to repeat seventh grade with her, my mom home-schooled me. I caught up on seventh and eighth grade in a year. They let me go to the junior high graduation ceremony, and I swear to god my mom almost punched this lady in the face when she saw her.”

Brad’s look turns approving. “Huh. I still need to call your mom.”

Ray catches Brad’s hand before it gets close to his pocket and holds it for a few seconds before squeezing and letting go. “When we get home. Roberto’s and Schedule III painkillers first.”

Brad sighs, long-suffering, and leans on Ray a little more. “Roberto’s,” he relents. Ray fishes his keys out of his other pocket as they approach the exit.

“Am I gonna have to grind up painkillers in your food again?” Ray asks. He sees Brad’s fingers twitch toward the door handle. “Don’t even, I got it.”

“Wait, _again_?”

“I think I want a burrito,” Ray says, pushing the door open.

“Again? Ray.”

“We’re in the third row. There’s two steps down, right here. Do you want enchiladas or tostadas this time?”

“Jesus Christ, Ray. First you deny me blowjobs, and now you confess to drugging me.”

“I know. Today is a day of great suffering. Enchiladas or tostadas?”

They get to the car. Ray leans Brad against the side while he opens the passenger door and reclines the seat.

Brad doesn’t say a word the entire time Ray’s maneuvering him into the car. When Ray’s finally gotten him settled, he picks his keys up off the floor where he’d tossed them and goes to shut the door.

“Ray,” Brad says. “C’mere.”

Ray lets Brad lace their fingers together and pull him into the doorway. He leans in over Brad, bracing a hand on the center console. Brad tilts his chin up, inviting, and Ray kisses him, slow and careful. When he pulls back, Brad says, eyes still closed, “Tostadas.”

“And painkillers,” Ray adds, because the furrow has gotten deeper since they came outside.

“And a blowjob,” Brad counters. Ray narrows his eyes. “I won’t move around. And if you do, you can hold me down.”

“And?”

“And then I will take however many unnecessary painkillers you put in front of me,” Brad promises.

Ray dips his head down for another kiss. He gives Brad just a hint of tongue and then pulls away and ducks out of the car. When he gets in the driver’s seat, Brad’s watching him, pretending to be annoyed.

“You’re such a tease,” Brad says.

“Teases don’t buy you drugs and Mexican food.”

“That’s true. Every tease I know buys me pizza.”

“I bet they don’t promise you blowjobs, either.”

Brad tips his head back, smiling at the ceiling. “They do not, Ray. I take it back. You’re not a tease. You’re just an enormous pain in my ass.”

“You love me,” Ray says, half-joking, and Brad looks over, says, “Yeah,” as easy as that.

 

*


End file.
